


The WBUJ Code of Misconduct

by delicatetobreak



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatetobreak/pseuds/delicatetobreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke only mentioned that the desk was off-limits.  Nobody said anything about the booth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The WBUJ Code of Misconduct

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel of sorts to The Barden Bellas' Guide to Getting Laid. Here be sexy times. 
> 
> Feedback super appreciated!

For the record, it’s Chloe’s fault. It’s totally Chloe’s fault. 

Okay, so maybe it was Beca who texted at 2AM on a whim. Four hours into her Saturday night graveyard shift at the station and Beca’s tired, hungry and maybe, if she’s totally honest, a little regretful about the fact that she isn’t back in her bed in her dorm, being spooned instead. The text was meant to be a jokey reference to something she and Chloe had been laughing about the other day at the cafeteria, something she thought Chloe could chuckle at in the morning after she woke up. 

She didn’t _actually_ expect Chloe to let herself into the station and bring her gummy bears and curly fries. Surely she’s got better things to do with the last days of her senior year (like sleep, Beca thinks longingly) but there she is, waving the stuff in one hand as she stands outside the booth, grinning broadly. When Beca lets her in, Chloe’s throws her arms around her so excitedly that she lets out a little “oof”. 

“Dude, what are you doing here?” Beca asks, surprised, into Chloe’s hair. 

Anybody else and Beca would be annoyed or even suspicious. Instead, Beca feels kind of giddy. She has a girlfriend, a girlfriend who’s cute and funny and brings her food in the middle of the night. She’d blame it on the three Red Bulls she had a few hours ago or on the weird midnight euphoria that Luke claims once drove him to reorganize all the vinyl before sunrise but when Chloe draws back and smiles at her, her heart gives a stupid little leap. 

“You said you were craving sustenance,” Chloe says matter-of-factly as she digs into the gummy bears.

“Yeah but I also said I wanted a pony for my fifth birthday and hey, I’m still horseless,” Beca deadpans. 

Chloe laughs and throws a gummy bear at her and for a while they’re just eating, Beca getting up occasionally to cue the next track or to announce the next song. The booth’s warm and quiet except for the gentle hum of the equipment and the sound of Chloe quietly singing along. It’s nice, more than nice really. It’s kind of great. 

Beca nudges Chloe’s shoe with her own shyly. 

“You really didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night to feed me, you know,” she says quietly.

“Why?” Chloe teases, “Not happy to see me?” and Beca rolls her eyes.

“No, you dork, I just…” Beca grimaces. 

“It’s nice. You’re nice. I’m glad you came,” she says in a rush and God, she wishes she could say things as easily as she does with her mixes. But Chloe always seems to understand and the smile that she gives her right now is so patient and sweet and so _Chloe_ that Beca has to look away for a second.

“Of course I did,” Chloe says warmly. “I’m on girlfriend duty.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t see a badge or anything,” Beca smirks and Chloe gives her this look, this specific look that Beca’s only just getting accustomed to, that suddenly makes the air in the booth feel a lot thinner.

“I may have come with ulterior motives,” Chloe says apologetically but there’s a quirk to her smile that suggests she’s not sorry at all and Beca doesn’t know why she’s only just noticing this but for somebody who just got out of bed, Chloe’s looking really nice. For one thing, she’s not wearing sweats. For another, from where she’s sitting, she can see something black and lacy peeking out from the top of Chloe’s button down sweater.

Oh.

“Wait…” Beca says incredulously, “Did you think this was a booty call?”

Chloe grins, playful but with just the right hint of predatory that Beca’s laughter stills in her throat.

“So, what if I did?” 

“Chloe,” Beca says warningly. She can feel her cheeks getting warm as Chloe climbs onto her lap and straddles her, draping her arms around her shoulder. Beca swallows, hard. 

“Yeah?” Chloe says, undeterred, and there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes when she wriggles as if she’s settling in and the chair gives a low, protesting squeak. Beca reaches out instinctually, grabbing Chloe around the waist so that she won’t fall and if one hand lands on her ass, well, it was totally unintentional.

“Getting grabby there?” Chloe says with a wink and Beca tries to glare, she really does but it doesn’t seem to work.

All Chloe does is lean in and kiss her, slow and wicked, and Beca can feel her smile against her mouth when Beca groans.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” Beca mumbles reluctantly, hands sliding into the back pockets of Chloe’s jeans so she can pull her closer, and Chloe giggles.

“We’re not doing anything yet,” Chloe points out and Beca’s ready to put a stop to this, she really is, but there’s making out, lots of it and then Chloe’s casually unbuttoning her sweater and Beca lets out a strangled sound.

“Oh my God!” Beca sputters and Chloe laughs, shakes out her hair as she shrugs off her sweater. It’s unfair just how pretty she looks, cheeks slightly flushed, hair tumbling around her shoulders, bright and red against sun-kissed skin and the black lace of her bra. Beca’s seen Chloe enough times in various states of undress that it shouldn’t be a surprise but somehow it is every time.

Beca exhales sharply. “So not playing by the rules,” she accuses, and Chloe raises an eyebrow.

“I thought the only rule was not to do it on the desk,” Chloe says, eyes flitting to the object in question outside the booth and then back to Beca.

Beca pauses. “You have a point.”

And it unravels from there because Chloe kisses her again, sighs happily as she parts Beca’s lips with the soft sweep of her tongue, and Beca blames the sleep deprivation for the way her mind just goes stupidly blank right now. Chloe doesn’t play fair, Beca knows. Beca lets out an embarrassing whimper when Chloe rolls her hips against hers and her bare skin feels like it’s searing through the thin fabric of Beca’s shirt. Every time this happens, Beca just feels like a teenage boy who’s inexpertly fumbling around and she can’t help feeling a smug rush of pride when she slides a hand up heated skin to palm Chloe’s breast and she moans and arches into the touch.

Beca doesn’t know how this occurs to her when she’s only dimly aware of the existence of a world beyond a lapful of Chloe Beale but the song she put on last has long been over and Beca knows how much Luke hates dead air.

“Wait, I gotta put on a track,” Beca blurts out, dazed, and Chloe laughs, rests her face in Beca’s neck.

“Yes, ma’am,” she says, climbing off obediently. Chloe looks like a mess, hair mussed and lips swollen. Beca can only imagine what she looks like herself and when catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection of her computer screen, she has to bite her lip at the sight.

“Do you have something that goes on for really long?” Chloe asks, looking over her shoulder. Beca can feel her pressed up against her back and it’s distracting enough that Beca doesn’t think, just frowns, “Really? Didn’t peg you for a prog-rock fan.”

When she turns around to look at Chloe, it’s to see her smile the way she always does when she thinks Beca’s doing something adorable (usually despite her protests).

“Beca,” Chloe says and the look that follows is almost steely. Chloe Beale, personal space invader, steps a little closer.

“I’m not making a request,” she says steadily and she punctuates the words by popping open the button of Beca’s jeans.

“I’m asking you to put something on so you don’t have to worry about the show.”

Beca lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding as Chloe’s fingers drag down the zipper of her jeans, the denim parting with a jagged groan.

“So I can, well,” and Beca’s eyes drop to where Chloe’s fingers are lingering. Chloe grins, “You know.” 

Chloe slides Beca’s jeans off her hips, brushes the jut of her hipbone with a thumb and Beca’s reaching out and blindly flipping a few switches. 

“This one’s for all you weirdos who are still awake,” she says hastily into the microphone and this time, she’s the one who tugs Chloe closer and crashes her lips to hers.

Beca still thinks sex is totally weird, more goofy and awkward than anything else but sex with Chloe is fun in a way she never thought it could be. When Chloe presses her up against the table and Beca lets out an impatient huff, Chloe’s laughing with her, not at her, like she knows how silly this is. 

“Is this okay?” Chloe asks when her fingers slip into her jeans, knuckles brushing up against where she’s wet. There’s a sarcastic comment to be made somewhere here, Beca’s still coherent enough to know that, but all she can do is breathe shakily, “God, yes.”

“Up,” Chloe says briskly, the word a heated murmur against Beca’s cheek and Beca’s hands scramble to the edge of the table where Chloe hoists her up and oh, it’s the perfect height for what she wants to do because Chloe’s stepping in between her legs, fingers finally dipping down past the cloth of her underwear to touch her and Chloe swallows Beca’s moan with her mouth, tongue sliding in tandem with her fingers.

It’s almost too much. Chloe’s got her other arm wrapped around Beca’s waist, drawing lazy circles against her skin, and Beca has to curl her fingers around the edge of the table to keep herself from slipping off because she can feel her own hips rising to meet Chloe’s touch, can hear her own breathing grow shallow at the slow-building rhythm of Chloe’s fingers. 

At the brush of her thumb though, insistent and, oh god, perfect right where she needs it, Beca’s eyes squeeze shut, head falling back with a dull thud against the glass of the booth. Chloe giggles and bites her way down the sweaty column of Beca’s neck, sucks so hard on the skin she captures between her teeth that Beca’s gasps come out sharp and needy. 

“Fuck, Beca,” Chloe exhales appreciatively, and Beca thinks that the only thing as good as the feeling of Chloe touching her like this is the way she looks at Beca when she’s doing it. Chloe’s eyes are dark as they take her in and she’s biting her lip like the very sight of Beca’s falling apart is ruining her. The thought sends Beca’s blood boiling with want, gives the cant of her hips an extra edge of desperation. 

Beca unclenches a hand from its grip on the table and slides it up Chloe’s arm, feels the play of muscles as they bunch and tense with effort, and buries it in her hair, pulling her into a kiss.

It’s messy, a clash of teeth and bruised lips and Beca’s voice is strained when she pants Chloe’s name.

“Come on,” Chloe urges and it’s almost instantaneous the way Beca comes undone, flying apart at the sound of her voice. Beca muffles her cry in Chloe’s shoulder, breath ragged as Chloe slows her touch, lets Beca ride out the last waves of feeling with a gentle smile.

It’s probably too late to feel shy (Beca is distinctly aware that Chloe’s hand is still in her pants, that she’s pretty much ruined this pair of underwear) but it doesn’t stop Beca from ducking her head and Chloe nudges her forehead with hers.

“You alright?” she whispers, “I didn’t break you or anything did I?”

Beca lets out a huff of laughter, “Only beyond repair.”

“Oh my God.”

Beca wrinkles her nose, “I know right? I can’t believe we did it here-“

“No, I meant, oh my God. Beca…”

“What?”

When Beca looks up, Chloe’s staring over her shoulder, eyes impossibly wide. 

Beca turns around, horrified. The recording light of the microphone is an accusatorily bright red.

“Nobody listens at this hour,” Beca says faintly, “Right…?”

-

Beca gets the answer to her question when she walks into her Intro to Art History class later that morning and everyone in the lecture hall stands up and bursts into applause and wolf whistles. 

Five months ago, she would’ve punched the nearest person and ran out of the hall. Forget about financial assistance, she would’ve dropped out of Barden and hopped onto the next flight to LA before any of the Bellas could even call. Beca won’t lie. The temptation is still there. There’s a part of her that just wants to skip all her classes for the rest of the semester and hide in her bed, even if it means enduring her humiliation with a side order of Kimmy Jin’s silent glares. The other part realises that she really has nothing to be ashamed of. 

Beca has the sneaking suspicion that Chloe would call this growth. It’s kind of weird. So instead of running away, she smirks, even though her cheeks are burning red, and summons all the confidence she has to mockingly bow before she takes a seat.

When she goes to Bellas practice that afternoon, she gets the same reception. The Bellas all burst into lewd catcalls and Chloe looks sheepishly at her when Beca enters the room. Aubrey’s looking distinctly unimpressed while Fat Amy is raucously laughing. 

“If I knew this was the way you ran your show, I would’ve tuned in from the beginning,” Stacie says slyly and Cynthia Rose gives her a high five. 

“Okay, keep it in your pants, aca-nerds, we have some songs to sing,” Beca says with an impatient roll of her eyes but she bites back a laugh when Amy starts crumping and grinding up on a comically horrified Aubrey. Chloe sidles up next to her, pointedly ignores the jokes and Aubrey’s shrill attempts to regain control, and bumps her shoulder. 

“You okay?” she mouths, brow furrowed in concern, and Beca squeezes her hand.

“Apart from dying of embarrassment, super fine,” Beca says dryly and she’s surprised to realize that she means it. 

So maybe every phone call to the radio station for the next three weeks consists of requests for the Midnight Special remix and for the return of a certain redheaded guest.

And maybe she can’t quite meet Luke in the eye when he fixes her with a glare and slaps a sign on the wall that reads, “NO SEX ON THE DESK OR IN THE BOOTH. AT ALL. I’M SERIOUS, GUYS”.

“You’re lucky I like you so much, Becky,” Luke says when Beca asks if she’s fired and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning.

But she accepts Jesse’s fist bump when he comes in to stack CDs because now that enough time has passed for the awkwardness to dissipate between them, they’re bros or something and he refuses to be left hanging. 

“In terms of vocal range, I’d probably rate it just below _When Harry Met Sally_ …” Jesse says casually and Beca thinks her answering shove is the most civil reply she could possibly give. 

-

The next time Chloe walks in on her while she’s hosting the show, Beca’s eyes widen in alarm.

“You can’t come in here!” Beca splutters, switching off the microphone. “Luke banned you from the station. If he sees you…”

Chloe grins and leans forward, unplugging the mic.

“I saw him chatting up some foreign exchange girl at the gym on my way here, he won’t be back for ages,” she says breezily.

And before Beca can even protest, Chloe’s shimmying out of her dress and walking out of the booth. Chloe throws her a wink over her shoulder and Beca’s mouth goes dry. 

“I don’t see anything on the sign about the stacks,” Chloe calls out, teasingly, as she saunters towards the huge record shelves. 

She’s right, there isn’t. So for the record, it’s Chloe’s fault. It’s totally Chloe’s fault. But this time, Beca thinks, as she takes off her headphones and slips out of the booth with a stupid grin on her face, she’ll happily take the blame.


End file.
